


Sherlollipops - The Human Touch

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [103]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:22:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5095586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of his departure to exile and eventual death (or so he believes), Sherlock makes an important discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - The Human Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a magnificently angsty bit of art by artbylexie on tumblr: http://mizjoely.tumblr.com/post/132083363807/artbylexie-found-this-is-my-drafts-folder-i

Sherlock abhorred contact of any kind. The body was just transport, after all, and what possible use could physical contact have for the mind?

Quite a lot, as it turned out. Hugs from Lestrade and John, kisses and hugs from Mary and Mrs. Hudson and his parents, a handshake from his brother…all served to remind him that the human touch wasn’t nearly as useless as he’d always told himself.

And now, on the eve of his exile to eastern Europe, he finally allowed himself the comfort of a warm embrace from the one person he’d always tried to hold at arm’s length. The one person who could see him, who mattered more than she’d ever believed. The first person he’d sincerely apologized to in his adult life.

The one who’d listened quietly as he explained what he’d done and why he’d done it, unflinching even as the words poured out of him. He’d come to see her at St. Barts, his home from home, catching her at the end of her shift, her hair freed from its usual practical pony-tail, lab coat folded away but winter jacket not yet donned. Her usual cheery jumper was missing, the victim of an acid spill by a careless intern, but the blouse she wore was just as brightly patterned and continually drew his eye as he spoke.

When he finally fell silent, waiting for her condemnation (so well deserved) at his cold-blooded murder of another human being (even one so despicable as Charles Augustus Magnussen), he couldn’t raise his eyes above her feet. He watched as she approached him, resigned himself to her anger, calculating the odds that she would slap him for yet again wasting his talents, but stilled in shock as he felt warm arms enfolding him instead. “Oh, Sherlock, please do me a favor and try to outlive your brother’s expectations, can you do that for me?” she whispered, then dropped a gentle, forgiving kiss to his forehead.

Those words, the feel of her soft arms around him, nearly broke him; he clutched her to him like a drowning man with a life preserver, breathing in the scent of her, so uniquely Molly - strawberries and lemons and the faintest whiff of decomp, chemicals and honey and  _home_.

She wasn’t asking him for the impossible - she wasn’t begging him to come back, to live, but only to do what he could to prolong the inevitable.

He wasn’t surprised to realize it only made him love her all the more.

“I’ll try,” he replied softly, trying to ignore the catch in his voice or the sudden hitch in her breath as they both held back on their tears. “For you, Molly Hooper, I’ll  _always_ try.”

 


End file.
